


A Neverending Hunt

by Apple_Fairy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple_Fairy/pseuds/Apple_Fairy
Summary: Arthur would like to think he is a capable man who has established himself well enough to know he'll never be at anyone's mercy. But when he begins to be pursued, when he begins to be hunted, when he's finally the prey and not the predator why is it that he doesn't mind so much? Why is it that he even begins to want it? Kikuasa, set during the alliance





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is something I've been slaving over for awhile, and something of an impromptu love letter to kikuasa. I hope I was able to write a story well enough to get those feelings across. I hope you can enjoy the story and thank you for reading.

The sky was cloudy that morning.

Arthur stared up at it through the tree branches, a patchwork image he got glimpses of. It was grey and heavy, and Arthur felt it in his bones that it would rain that evening. Hopefully, not now. It would ruin their entire day if it rained now.

“Fatherland, what do you think?”

Arthur blinks and returns his attention to the group in front of him. He was accompanying not only his own King, but a variety of his nobles on horseback through the Royal Forest. They were hunting boar, and waiting for the call of the horn to signal the hounds caught something.

“Sorry, I was drifting off. What was the question?”

“The duke here says hunting boar is more honorable than hunting deer.” A noble informs him, half scoffing at the idea. “Isn’t that strange?”

“It’s not strange.” The man defends himself, “The animal is more vicious than a deer. Don’t you get more satisfaction when you catch a boar?”

“Hunting the deer is more noble. It’s a game worthy for the king.”

Arthur watches them. He’s remembering his childhood then; a horrible time in which it didn’t matter to him what was honorable or not, but whether it could fill his stomach that evening. He remembers hunting deer, of course. He remembers hunting boar. He doesn’t remember which one made him feel better, he just remembers the necessity. It feels so odd to him now, to watch this spectacle. He had come to a luxurious point where he could debate such a matter, where he could indulge in the act without worrying about the outcome.

“I don’t believe it really matters.” Arthur answers them, “What matters is the chase.”

The nobles stare at him for a moment and one smiles, the wrinkles by his eyes crinkling.

“That’s the answer of a young man there.” He jokes, and Arthur’s cheeks go red. “When I heard the fatherland was immortal I was expecting him to be as wise as an old man.”

“Well he only looks as old as my squire.”

Arthur feels indignant then, and although he wasn’t a stranger to these comments, that didn’t mean he was smart about them either. He’s about to say something then (something rude or vicious, something that showed his temper) until the king spoke.

“Despite Arthur’s appearance,” he says, commanding the attention of the entire group,”I believe he’s still wiser than all of us. He’s experienced more life then we can even imagine.”

There’s a pause, and then hushed and humiliated apologies to the king. None of them are pointed Arthur’s way, but Arthur doesn’t care then. He just feels the respect he holds for this man is reaffirmed, and once again a human makes him feel humbled.

The air is cut with the bellowing of horns. They come from two different directions.

“They spotted two?”

“Well, aren’t we lucky?”

“I’ll take the one to the west.” The king announces. “Arthur come with me.”

If Arthur was human, he’d take this as a great sign of honor, a wonderful opportunity. For the king to single him out would be a favorable circumstance. However, Arthur didn’t care for status or prestige. Considering his position, he was already there, so he only met this command with confusion.

“Yes, your Highness.”

The rest of the group divide themselves, and they gallop away to their destinations. Arthur commands his horse like it's second nature, and glancing up he still sees the grey clouds. He’s vaguely remembering something Denmark told him a month ago. How he swore he saw Odin in the night sky, hunting some terrible beast. He asked Arthur if it was a good omen or a bad omen seeing as he was better with that topic then he was. Arthur had waved him away then, but he remembers Ireland warning him a few weeks later that it was a bad premonition.

He wonders how Denmark’s doing now. He suspects it’s not good.

Arthur catches on this thought for awhile. How they all had come so far and yet the threat is still there. These forests felt familiar to him, this race felt like a routine. But everything prior to it felt so unnecessary to him, so heavy and proper. All this cornering off the land, and the socializing, hiring all these people for the upkeep and labor. That morning when they were talking over their strategy over breakfast he had almost fallen back asleep. It felt too cushy, too easy.

But maybe that was the point? They had firmly established themselves as the predators, why wouldn’t they take a chance to make a game of it? And Arthur is still remembering being a small child, scared of the unknown wild, only trying to survive. How did he end up here? With a quiver full of arrows given to him, with a bow carved for him, with a horse trained for him? In the retinue of kings and nobles who chatted about which animal did they prefer to kill?

“What’s wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur startles out of his thoughts, and finds his king watching him, his mouth a thin line.

“Nothing.”

“You look troubled.”

Arthur frowns, and looks ahead to the trees, at the wide expanse before him. He shrugs.

“It just feels strange to me. How far humans have come.”

“How so?”

“We’ve made it so these beasts are nothing but sport to us. But doesn’t that also make us soft in the end?”

A deep chuckle comes from the king. Arthur worries he’s going to receive the same comments he did before, but they don’t come.

“You truly are immortal.” The man muses, “You don’t have to worry about the dangers we’re facing. You don’t have to worry about your prey fighting back, you don’t worry about your horse crushing you, and you don’t worry about stray arrows. You’re very lucky.”

Arthur smiles. “God keeps sending me away at the gate. He just won’t have me.”

They laugh. Arthur feels less tense, and they continue at a casual trot. But something’s still bothering him, so he keeps going.

“Maybe I’m worried I’ve become too soft. I don’t face the same dangers you do, but I still have enemies.”

“Your kind?”

The familiar faces flash through his mind; his brothers, his neighbors, and those across the world still. Arthur doesn’t believe it when they said they’ve found all the world. He still feels they’re out there, somewhere, the one’s that were just like him. What that meant worried him. He nods in response.

“They are a viable threat.” His king agrees, “Perhaps the only one you face.”

“Things like this kept me strong. Living on my own and providing for myself kept me on my feet.” Arthur looks down, “But now I’m here.”

A long pause stretches between them. Arthur felt odd confiding into a human like this, but perhaps it was necessary. Confiding in one’s leader is important for a nation. And yet at this matter, Arthur felt like a child seeking guidance.

For a moment, he misses his mother. But just as soon, he chooses to forget her.

“I personally think this expedition makes you stronger.”

Arthur furrows his brow. He looks at his king and the man seems bemused by his expression. He explains himself.

“You now have the choice, don’t you? To be the hunter or the hunted. Nothing is stopping you from hunting outside of these grounds. But here, you can be assured that you will be the victor no matter what. You can toy with what it means to be the predator or prey.”

He trots on ahead, and Arthur watches his back.

“You have that choice with your peers as well. You can choose to be at their mercy or for them to be at yours.”

For a moment, Arthur marvels at his strong shoulders and frame. His leader is still young and he’s still strong. His reign had faults here and there, but it was still powerful. And Arthur, young and new, knows his leader will grow old like the rest of them. He’s still coming to terms with that idea, and so he began taking a passive stance. To not celebrate the person as they were, but what they did. So he takes in these words, and he lies them in the deepest parts of his own heart where time can’t touch them.

Because they mean something to him. To this unspoken war between all of them, they meant a lot to the ambitious country of England.

Arthur catches up with him. He’s smirking; the very image of a hot-blooded youth. His king notices this, but doesn’t comment.

“Feel better?”

“Very.”

They leave the topic there as the hounds come into view. As they chase the boar, Arthur marvels at the idea still. He feels powerful then to be given that option, and to take it so easily. He’s strong enough to know his bounds and to fight against them still. The animal is fast but Arthur gallops after it, leaving behind his leader. Arthur is filled with pride, and when he mounts his arrow, he’s grinning.

It had seemed so simple to him then. It was so cut and dry. He releases the first arrow and it hits.

 _You chose this_ , he thinks. _You chose this._

He doesn’t consider what it means to be the prey. He doesn’t think of what it means to be hunted and how it would feel. He can only picture himself overcoming this and being the hunter again.

It was so easy to say this and this is why he will regret it later.

* * *

It was spring, it was 1903, and Arthur didn’t want to leave Kiku’s side.

It was an odd thought that’s been flitting through his mind ever since they began their alliance. It had chosen him that evening under the stars, and it hasn’t left yet. Each time he saw him, it was there in the back of his brain, a pervasive and tempting thought he didn’t know what to do with. It was more powerful than anything he felt with his previous partners or allies. It felt less political and more personal. It wasn’t England’s thought, but entirely Arthur’s.

To be honest, the prospect scared him, so he ignored it like any stubborn and wounded thing would when encountered with good fortune. His defense mechanisms were kicking in and he preferred it that way. However, politics are politics which was why they were here now.

Kiku had been graciously invited to a proper English fox hunt.

They were enjoying the pre-hunt drinks, watching the chatting riders, a sea of red and twinkling glasses. One of Arthur’s parliament members, an esteemed member of his own hunting club, had invited Kiku and Arthur to better entertain their new alliance partner. In Arthur’s eyes it was all about being a good host. But the more he explained the hunt to Kiku, the more he could notice that this hunt may have not been the right idea.

“You don’t make the kill yourself?” Kiku had asked.

Arthur’s used to seeing Kiku wear his own country’s clothing, but here he look refined but out of place. He stares out from under the brim of his cap, looking uncomfortable in the borrowed red coat. In one hand he twirls his crop whip. Arthur takes note that he looks good in boots.

Arthur shuts down the idea of him looking good in boots.

“N-No,” Arthur awkwardly explains, “that’s what the hounds are for. The hounds chase down the foxes.”

“And what do we do?”

“Lead the hounds.”

Kiku turns to look at him. With his eyes alone, Arthur knows what he’s thinking. But because Kiku is a proper person, whose gracious before he is honest, he offers a quiet smile.

“Your people have been able to refine the art of hunting. How interesting.”

“Look, I know,” Arthur frowns, “it’s a far cry from what we grew up with.”

“I just didn’t think I’d the see the day survival become sport.” Kiku chuckles, swirling his drink. “Although, I’m not surprised to see it here.”

“What do you mean?”

“In your country. You have an elegant culture here, so it’s no surprise.”

Arthur blushes, and he’s hoping this was praise. He decides to change the subject because he’s feeling too shy.

“How was it like? When you were younger?”

Kiku looks far off then, and Arthur finds himself liking these moments between them. They weren’t foreign to casual talks between themselves. But what Arthur liked the most was the sharing of details. He liked telling Kiku about himself, but more importantly he liked hearing about Kiku most of all. It felt more intimate, it felt more personal. As if they could show each other they weren’t only nations, but also people with actual experiences and wisdom. There was no politics here; there was only the comfortable act of confiding.

“When I was a child, I was always taken care of so I never had to provide for myself.” Kiku begins, “But I accompanied many shogun who hunted for practice.”

“Practice?”

“For battle.”

Arthur feels a shiver run up his spine.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Kiku continues, “It’s the same principle. I was able to learn the same way.”

“I never thought of it like that.” Arthur comments, “All my leaders ever did it for was for sport or for honor.”

“I suppose there’s an honor to it. In some parts of my home, it was considered a rite of passage for young men. But you also have to be respectful to your prey. We believe it’s only right to thank the gods of the forest for our kill.”

“Ah, so there’s a ritual.”

“Most of the times.”

Arthur tries to picture it. He was so used to Kiku being quiet and reserved it’s hard for him to think of Kiku on horseback, landing a killing blow. He’s so small, even now. To Arthur, Kiku in his natural state is thoughtful and passive. He’s a small comment in a conversation, he’s a nostalgic figure in a silent garden. Kiku wasn’t a hunter.

“How would you do it? What would you use?”

“Bow and arrow.” Kiku looks up, a pride to his stance, “A knife to finish it off.”

There’s another chill. Arthur is suddenly acutely aware of his own heartbeat. He wants to tell Kiku what he’s thinking, he wants Kiku to describe it more vividly for him. And yet, he can’t think of any excuses for it. All he knows is that he wants it, and that the desire was strong and forward.

“Please don’t get me wrong.” Kiku says instead.

“F-For what?”

“It’s not as if I liked it. It was just a pastime for us.”

“Oh no, I know that much.” Arthur assures him, “I can’t see you as a hunter anyway.”

There is a sharp pause then, and Arthur instantly regrets his words. Perhaps he’d gone too far? However, when he turns to look at Kiku, he’s taken off guard.

Kiku smirks. All at once, Arthur knew he was telling the truth, and a hidden lie.

They’re interrupted as the Master of the Foxhounds announces to everyone to make their way to the grounds. The large group files away and the two drop the topic, as much as Arthur hates it. Perhaps he was overthinking it; perhaps Kiku didn’t take any offense. Perhaps that smile was just a casual agreement. Maybe none of it made any difference at all. Instead, Kiku makes small talk as they mount their horses, saying something about the weather, about the people. Arthur plays along and all seems well, until the horn is blown. The dogs are released, the riders follow, and the hunt is on.

Kiku does not follow.

In a barrage of horse hooves, and in a sea of white horses and red coats, Arthur almost misses it. Initially, he can see Kiku making the way as the hunt starts, he watches him follow the path. But as they make way over a hedge, and Arthur guides his horse to a jump, he finds his companion gone as he lands. Searching for him, he finds Kiku near the edge of the group, and in a quick motion, leading his horse off the side of the path, away from the others.

Arthur doesn’t even have to think twice. He follows after.

It’s a mad dash into the forestland around the farm. Kiku is a lone figure who expertly guides his horse over every obstacle. Arthur is struggling to keep up and he calls for him. Arthur has no idea what Kiku is thinking. This entire scenario is strange to him, but he also doesn’t want to leave him alone. For a moment, Kiku looks over his shoulder, and Arthur is breathtaken when he sees him still smiling. Kiku urges his horse faster and Arthur can’t help but share his smile. Somehow, it turns into a chase and the idea thrills him. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, and Arthur has to remain alert to move through the terrain. It feels like he’s being tested and Arthur, always a glutton for pride, is happy to step up to the challenge. The hunt falls away in importance the further he gets away.

All he sees is Kiku.

Into the chase, Kiku disappears behind a bend of trees and Arthur has to slow down his horse to make the turn. He hears the slow descent of horse hooves, and a stop. He looks around the forest to find a slope, and it’s then he notices the sound of babbling water. When Arthur follows the path, he finds Kiku at the bottom. He’s standing next to his horse, his cap in his hand, serene and calm next to the river. His hair is ruffled and his face is slightly flushed. To Arthur, he’s absolutely beautiful.

“What was that all about?” Arthur asks, half-laughing, as he dismounts. Kiku shrugs and looks down, a tinge of shame to his demeanor. He ties his cap to the saddle reins.

“I must apologise. I realize it’s incredibly rude of me to leave the hunt after I was invited.”

Arthur should feel worry, but there was something in how Kiku talked or looked that made him feel it wasn’t that. Rather, it didn’t feel like Kiku was treated wrongly, but instead he was willingly putting himself in the wrong. The atmosphere felt strange to him, but it also felt freeing for the same reason. This was personal.

“Is something the matter?”

“No.”

Kiku looks up at Arthur, and his expression was too subtle for him to read. There was something there, in his eyes or in the way he set his mouth. It wasn’t regret, no. It wasn’t boredom. He could see it was something like these emotions, but not completely. Arthur was trying to figure out the situation, that he almost didn’t notice how close Kiku had gotten. He was only a step away from him now, and Arthur’s heart stops altogether. For a moment there is only the sound of running water, a bird calling here or there, and somewhere far off the cry of a horn.

“Kiku?”

“To be honest, I find this hunt too…” Kiku trails off, trying to find the right word, “... _cozy_ , for my liking.”

Arthur gulps. Internally, he agrees with Kiku, and outwardly he wants him to go on. In that moment, the world feels so separate from them, as if they were hidden away. Arthur is absolutely in love with the idea and he doesn’t want to go back. If he could, he’d like if they could stay like this forever. Kiku reaches up then, and Arthur braces himself.

He feels pressure on his chin, then hears a click. Kiku pulls his cap off for him, and smiles.

“The only reason I agreed to come here was so I could be alone with you.”

Arthur’s knees go weak. His heart is going crazy. Alarm bells are going off in his head, and he knows he should listen. He recalls a conversation so long ago, with a man he served but has trouble remembering. Arthur is immortal. Arthur’s real threat is only those just like him. And before him stands a man who can’t die no matter what pains he suffers. He’s smiling, and Arthur hates himself for how much he loves that smile.

He is scared. He is scared but he’s willing.

The moment is broken when Kiku’s face drops, and suddenly it's all blatant worry.

“Are you alright, Arthur-san? You don’t look well.”

“N-No, I’m fine.” Arthur stutters. His face is going scarlet.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, I.” Arthur gulps. “I’m just...really happy I guess.”

Kiku’s eyebrows raise just a bit. Arthur feels so open then, so honest. He’s not used to this and he feels too vulnerable, but he wants to trust him.

“I really wanted to be alone with you as well.” He confesses.

The air feels clear then. Kiku smiles widely and honestly for the first time that day. Gingerly, he takes Arthur’s hand, and Arthur lets him lead him to the side of the riverbank. They sit and all awkward air disappears. The hunt goes on without them but they spend that afternoon talking. They talked about the hunt, they talked about their feelings, they traded opinions and ideas. Arthur would be lying if he said he didn’t want more. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for Kiku to make a move. He’s confused on where they stand; it was certainly a good standing. They were obviously partners in an alliance. But if they were playing at friendship or something more, Arthur couldn’t say. What scared him the most was that he wasn’t sure which one he wanted.

“You said earlier,” Kiku says at one point, in a dull in the conversation, “you couldn’t think of me as a hunter.”

“S-Sorry,” Arthur scrambles, “That was insensitive of me.”

“No, I can understand. I don’t give that impression, do I?”

“It’s not a bad thing if you think about it.”

Kiku turns to look at him, thoughtful. “May I ask something personal?”

“Go ahead.”

“What _do_ I look like to you, then?”

Arthur stops. He watches Kiku, a small considerate figure. He of course considers him as a friend. He’s bordering on considering him romantically. It’s then he realizes Kiku, and perhaps who he truly is, is eluding him. It was very easy for him to say Kiku was a quiet nation that kept to himself and was polite and well-mannered. But there was also the matter of how they ended up here. If Kiku had not run to him that night, if he had not been defiant, they wouldn’t be close as they are now. And that part of his character was there as well, and Arthur was wondering how far that part went.

Arthur’s blood is boiling in his veins. He’s filled with so many different wishes. He wants to be pushed down. He wants to be kissed. He wants to be eaten alive.

But Kiku doesn’t make a move so Arthur looks away.

“I think I’m still trying to figure that out.”

A faint laughter answers him. Arthur can’t stop blushing and he wonders if he’s being toyed with.

* * *

In the future, when Kiku strikes, Arthur won’t see it coming. The wind was blowing that day in London, it was harsh and cold. Walking briskly, the two of them could be spotted on the streets, talking and laughing. Holding scarves to their necks, trying to push against the wind, hair wild and cheeks red. It might not have been there for them even. Maybe it just didn’t have any power. It was just another visit between them, another formality of the alliance. A stray newspaper rushes past them, blown haphazard by the gust. When they finally get to Arthur’s house, they rush inside, the entryway a noticeable quiet from the chaotic outside. Arthur’s still telling a story to Kiku:

“So, this right bastard,” he gulps as he shuts the door behind him, “he was a real piece of work. He was always going on about how I shouldn’t be allowed at meetings, that I didn’t have any real power.”

Kiku is unfurling the scarf from his neck, placing it on Arthur’s coat rack. “He knew you were a nation?”

“That didn’t mean anything to him. He just thought I was this _thing_ to get an idea of how the nation was doing. Complete bastard.”

“But you hit him.”

“Right, right. I was getting to that.” Arthur is already stifling a laugh as he takes off his coat, “So we were all on this business trip. I got to the hotel late and I was dead tired. But just after I had settled down to bed and I was falling asleep I hear this _noise_ , right? My door opens, but I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

Kiku has stopped moving and he’s watching Arthur with expectation, listening intently to the story. The room is a warm brown around them, Arthur’s house is old-fashioned and cozy. The story continues, and Arthur’s still trying not to laugh:

“But then there’s this _hand_. It wraps around me all slow and I hear his voice.” Arthur clears his throat, and makes his voice deeper, “ _Did you miss me, luvvy?_ ”

Kiku, eyes wide, asks “What did you do?”

“What else? I grabbed the candlestick near my bed and smashed him across the face.” Arthur laughs, “He got himself drunk, got the wrong room, and thought I was his wife. But I assure you that sobered him up.”

Kiku can’t help it anymore. Arthur’s own laugh makes it hard to resist. He breaks into a throaty laugh himself. Arthur’s grinning, momentarily delighted he got Kiku to loosen up just as he always does.

“He didn’t say anything after that. Not since I had that secret about him, anyway. And just between you and me,” Arthur leans in, mischevious, “It felt nice to finally hit the man.”

“Arthur-san!” Kiku exclaims, partly scandalized, but mostly laughing. Arthur finishes taking off his outerwear, riding a cheerful mood out.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t met people like that.” Arthur rubs his arms, feeling the chill in his house “You know what I could go for right now? Tea. You want some?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

Kiku agrees to wait in the parlor and with some time alone, Arthur takes a moment to realize how unashamedly happy he is for once. As he’s busying himself with the kettle, he wonders what feels so different. He’s never had alliances like this, nothing so gentle and so secure. I mean, of course he’s felt honeymoon periods, but those always sputtered to a dull political agreement. It was never so personal and so forward. And if it ever tried to be, it always just shifted to someone having more power. Basically, Arthur always knew there were politics and power in play more than simple human affection.

So what was this? It’s just like how he felt at the hunt; he was in unknown territory that he’d heard about but wasn’t meant to be in. Arthur was enjoying Kiku’s company. And if his laughter and smiles were real, then Arthur would say Kiku was enjoying his. It felt equal but off. It was lovely but strange. The house is still cold and Arthur feels the ghost of it breathe on his skin. He should light the fireplace, he thinks. They could have tea by it and they could talk. For a moment he holds a dream-like image of them snuggling on the armchair, limbs entangled with limbs, hands on hands, laughter on his neck. It’s intimate and forbidden, so Arthur tries to do away with the thought.

Kiku’s getting close, so close, to his heart. Alarm bells are going off for him. His subconscious self preservation is shaming him for being so happy. For getting carried away.

“Arthur-san,” Kiku calls from the parlor, “Do you need help?”

Arthur blinks, and for a moment he watches the kettle on the stove. It was a beat up but sturdy thing and Arthur’s still gripping the edges of kitchen counter. When did his shoulders tensed like this?

“No. I’m fine.” Arthur answers back and makes his way back to the parlor. When he gets there the first thing he thinks is how grey it looks. The window blinds are pulled away, so the bleak and drab of the outside is falling in, painting the room in a wash of monotone. It’s comfortably lived-in at least, the books line the wall, a blanket is carelessly tossed on a sofa. Kiku is standing in front of Arthur’s gramophone, examining the records stacked next to it. He turns to look at him, and smiles.

“You have a wonderful collection here.” He compliments them, reading the sleeves, turning a disk in his hand. Arthur doesn’t like how good Kiku looks there. How at home he seems.

“They’re mostly gifts.”

“Can we listen to some?” Kiku turns back around, his back to Arthur, and Arthur catches himself staring at the nape of Kiku’s neck, “If that’s alright with you?”

Arthur gulps. He goes to Kiku’s side, in long strides, and a part of him is screaming at him to just hold him already. He doesn’t. The house is still so cold and outside the wind is howling, beating against the glass of the windows. They rattle.

“Oh, you don’t want Mozart.” Arthur chides him a little, taking it out of Kiku’s hand gently.

“No?”

“Everyone’s heard Mozart. All of Europe loves Mozart. Try Handel, he’s more of a classic.” Arthur thumbs through the records until he finds the right one. Kiku watches him as he sets it up and Arthur feels he should say something. Kiku is staring at him too long.

“...Are you tired of them?” Kiku finally asks, his voice almost a whisper. Arthur winds the gramophone, trying to appear unaffected.

“Tired of who?”

“I’m sorry, this may be rude of me.” Kiku vocally backs off, but tentatively goes forward. “Europe, I mean.”

Arthur stops for a moment. It’s something he may have considered in passing, but nothing he sat down and gave a lot of thought. This topic kept coming up, and he may be battling this idea for the rest of his immortal life. There’s just so many of them, he realizes, and they’re so close. They all kept switching sides at the drop of a hat. At one moment he’s in love and at the next he is tearing out their hair. He can’t say they’re family but they’re certainly more than neighbors. It’s a vague thought no one has addressed. He shrugs.

“What gives you that thought? I’ll admit we can be insufferable sometimes, but why bring that up now?”

Kiku doesn’t break a smile like Arthur was planning. His mouth stays a thin line and his eyes lean to the side, away from Arthur, examining the wallpaper. When Arthur’s done, the beginnings of a harpsichord flow from the machine. It’s a light and flighty background noise and neither of them pay attention to it.

“...I wasn’t your first choice, was I?” Kiku finally says, and Arthur feels his heart clench.

He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly overcome with a scared guilt. I mean why _would_ Kiku be his first choice? It wasn’t anything against Japan and certainly nothing against Kiku personally. It was simply the logical and political choice that made him seek others out before Kiku. It would be a reach to say Arthur was trying to make an enemy, it’s more so he just wasn’t looking at others when he was trying to make an ally. It was nothing against Kiku. He hadn’t figured into it at all in the first place.

“Is that a problem?”

And yet Arthur is sorry. Why is Arthur sorry? He has no reason to feel sorry. Yet, he’s still overcome with the feeling that there’s something he forgot to give Kiku, or something he isn’t able to give him at all. Arthur is suddenly sick of himself, both because he feels like he failed something and because he doesn’t know why he feels that way. He owes Kiku nothing. But he wants to give Kiku something. The frustration goes inward and Arthur is a flustered child. The room is still chilly and it's brushing against him, holding him. The record keeps spinning, and then there’s a hand.

It slides against his wrist sensually and settles onto his own. It doesn’t curl into his palm, or take hold of him, it simply rests there, a coy invitation.

“I’m just happy I ended up here.” Kiku confesses. Arthur’s body is shivering and he’s not sure if it’s the temperature but it’s probably because of Kiku's hold. He’s never been so bold, and he’s never been so open. And the wind is still crying outside, it’s crazy, it’s like this house is only for them. The music is still playing and the place feels like a decorated prison. These moments of them being alone with each other are few but tempting. Arthur wants this so badly. He wants to think there’s no risk to this, he wants to stay here with Kiku, he wants him all to himself and he wants to give him so much more.

There’s still so much of him he doesn’t know.

“I really do enjoy these moments.” Kiku continues, “And if you’ll allow it, I’d like this to continue.”

Arthur’s knees are shaking. He’s watching Kiku’s hand and he’s daring it to move. To travel and search and feel. He shuts his eyes closed, trying to restrain himself. He’s not a monster, he tells himself, and he’s not a child. He won’t act on selfishness and he won’t act on whims. There are bigger things at stake here. There is more to this alliance then ignored and begging passions.

“Of course.” Arthur finally answers, shaky. He’s a bit ashamed how pleading his voice sounds. Why couldn’t he control it? Did Kiku notice?

Kiku’s fingertips are warm. They twitch. Arthur is waiting for something. There’s so much to him he doesn’t know. There’s so much here he wants to show him. Arthur’s never wanted to show so much to a person until he drew close. There’s more, there’s just so much _more_.

 _You’re not even scratching the surface,_ Arthur wants to tell him. Entice him. And faintly he feels the warmth move, skin sliding against skin, just a preview-

The tea kettle whistles from the kitchen. It grows into a sharp crescendo that breaks the silence. No, no, Arthur realizes. The record is still playing. For a moment there, all he could hear was his own heartbeat. The world falls back into place, and when he looks down the hand is gone. The whistle is deafening.

“The tea, Arthur-san.” Kiku reminds him. Arthur blinks, and dumbly nods.

“Right.”

The moment is gone. Kiku is polite and sweet again, but his invitation is gone. The water bubbles as Arthur pours the tea, and the steam rises and warms his face. It’s fragrance is faint, and he’s in a daze. Something happened just now. Something ended just now. He wants it back but he also wants it to never happen again. He almost lost there, he had let his guard down and he’s scared. He sniffles. His house was too damn cold.

The conversation will be pleasant again, and Kiku makes sure the mood is light-hearted and harmless as it was before. He leaves no trace behind and Arthur’s thankful but disappointed. When he finally lights the fireplace the room will warm and his prison will become more comfy. Why couldn’t this be a prison? For a second there, he almost felt like the only thing that mattered was Kiku. It was such a sweet thought.

I just want you all to myself. I just want all of myself for you. Despite everything, Arthur still craves that.

* * *

The events keep increasing as the time goes on. They’re unusually cozy with each other, more than an alliance needed. While Arthur could be content to say that it was friendship he knows he’s lying to himself. Arthur doesn’t try anything. But Kiku is the one who kept pushing the boundaries.

One day they’re looking over blueprints for a ship, and Arthur’s explaining the structure. He’s sharing his knowledge, but he gets the feeling he’s doing more talking then what’s being heard.

Gingerly, he feels fingers against his scalp and he freezes. Kiku brushes some hair from his face. Arthur doesn’t look at him because he’s too embarrassed to.

“Sorry,” Kiku softly says, “I thought it was getting in the way.”

Arthur mutters a shaky thanks. This isn’t the first time. He keeps doing these subtle things that are hinting at more. He glances to Kiku, but he wears the same placid features as he always does. The tension is palpable but Kiku doesn’t seem to feel it.

Arthur clears his throat and continues. They leave it behind them.

It’s even more then that. Two days later he’ll fix Arthur’s tie for him. He’ll guide his hand when he draws his attention to something. At dinner, he places light fingers on his arm when he asks if he wants seconds. There’s spaces between these moments but there’s a weight to their meanings. Yet they’re small and gone just as Arthur turns to look. Kiku is the same. His touches say otherwise, but Arthur doesn’t know what to do with their message.

One night he’s laying on a futon in the guest room of Kiku’s house, trying to find answers in the ceiling. He still feels the ghost of Kiku’s hand on his shoulder. There is cloth and rules between their contact, but he still feels it. His heart is pounding. Arthur wonders if he’s just hoping too much and forcing his own desires onto the situation. He wants to be wrong and told his imagination is running with him.

Because even while he’s alone he feels like he’s being watched. Like he has to be on his guard. Because it honestly feels like Kiku is biding his time until he makes a killing blow.

Arthur doesn’t know if he should fear it or eagerly anticipate it. He just wishes Kiku would stop torturing him like this.

* * *

It’s not to say Arthur is afraid of Kiku. And it’s unfair to say it’s as black and white as that he hates being near him. In his moments alone, when Arthur tries to figure out his feelings, he tries to tell himself it’s all one-sided and he’s a victim. It’s so much easier. Kiku is a nation first; he must have ulterior motives. His affections are shallow and temporary. Any chance of a relationship between them will only end in Arthur as the ‘loser’ and Kiku as the ‘winner’. It’s so easy to play the victim, but Arthur knows he’s not one. He knows he’s only trying to be one to avoid responsibility. Because Arthur doesn’t hate Kiku, and because Arthur knows he feels affection.

And, to be honest, the moments where he’s being tempted, he’s actually more than thrilled. There’s fear, of course, but it’s the same fear that comes with taking a risk. It’s his logical side telling him to turn back, but he also feels a thrill from it all.

He muses on this as he finds himself in a passenger car with Kiku, the train rumbling underneath them, the scenery flying by outside. It was night time now, and although Arthur knew he should turn in for the night soon, he wanted to keep Kiku company regardless. After all, he was the one who came to his room, saying something about feeling too restless to sleep. He watches Kiku, his profile, the way his hair falls. The room feels so small then. He feels so close.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” Kiku frowns, “Perhaps I’m not used to trains yet. I can never sleep in one of them.”

Arthur’s guard goes down. No, as always, he’s simply Kiku. There was no change there at all.

“Well, you’ve only had them for what; twenty years now?”

“I do have to thank you for your help in that matter.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur shrugs, bending the page he was reading, closing the book he had in his lap. “Netherlands should get more credit than me. That man showed you everything.”

He wonders if there was a tinge of jealousy to his voice, and to be honest, he’d hate it if Kiku could hear it. He’d feel like such a child if he was that transparent. He looks up to Kiku, and only finds the figure offering a bemused gaze. He just as soon looks away, watching the scenery go by. The world feels small then, as if it was all contained in that compartment. Arthur finds his eyes drawn lower, and he notices just how close their knees were.

“That’s Orion’s belt, isn’t it?”

Arthur looks back up, taken off guard. Kiku is pointing out the window, and Arthur leans forward, following his direction. It’s then he realizes he’s talking about the star constellation, shining in the night sky.

“Oh, yes. But you call it something else, right?”

“ _Mitsu boshi._ ” Kiku confirms, “Your culture doesn’t have a name for it?”

“N-No, we…” Arthur tries to think of the right words. “Mother was close to Rome. We got a lot of his stories as a result.”

It felt odd talking about her to Kiku. That sort of thing would be cursory knowledge for other nations, not something to go in depth about. Thankfully, Kiku didn’t pursue the subject and only placed his hands back in his lap.

“He was lucky, wasn’t he?”

“What do you mean?”

“Because he was so powerful he was able to do so many things first. A lot of you inherited so much from him.”

For a moment, Arthur is reminded he was a child too, once. With all he had seen and experienced, it was hard to remember what it was like back then. It’s then he feels indignant, ashamed, as if he had to make up for something. It was a sudden and rude feeling that overtook him. Perhaps he could credit it to his well-buried low self esteem, or maybe it was something he disliked about his own childhood. There was still something to his character he felt he had to defend. Arthur tried to find the words to do it, but his logical side was telling him not to be a child about it. His logical, but scathing self shamed him for feeling inferior in the first place. And Kiku, sweet Kiku, perhaps noticed this struggle. Arthur was always so amazed at how well Kiku could read the situation and shift gears accordingly. He appreciated that side of him.

“However,” Kiku adds, “I don’t mean to say you don’t have your own stories. If I may ask, can I hear one?”

Arthur feels humbled. Kiku was always so effortless in making him feel better.

“What would you want to hear?”

“You told me about your Arthurian legends before; I’d like to hear more of those.”

Arthur brightened. There may or may not have been a part of him that scolded him for being swayed so easily. However, it was Kiku, and most of all it was Kiku giving him attention. It was hard not to be swayed at all. So Arthur searched his mind, and he filtered through all the tales he knew by heart. He didn’t want to tell him something too obvious, because Kiku would most likely already know it. So he chose something somewhat obscure but still a generally good tale.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

Now, it may just be too popular. And perhaps, just a bit preachy. But although Arthur would be reluctant to admit it, he had a soft spot for preachy. So he weaves the tale for Kiku, and being the man he was, he had Kiku’s full attention. Arthur had a knack for storytelling; it always kept even Alfred and Matthew on the edge of their seats. It was just in his blood and in his land. So he told the story of Sir Gawain who took on one of his King Arthur’s challengers, the Green Knight, a knight who proved to be immortal. He told of his journey to find the man, and how he came across a King and his Queen who let him stay in their castle, under one rule:

“The King told him,” Arthur explains, “that Sir Gawain had to do only one thing; whatever he receives in the night, he must return to the king in the day.”

“Did he receive anything?” Kiku asked, enthralled.

“Only the Queen’s affection.” Arthur joked.

It was true; each evening she would go to him, professing her affection and offer herself to him. However, Gawain was pure, so he would turn down all advances, and so she would leave him with only kisses. Just as he promised to the King, Sir Gawain would return all he had received that evening to him. And each day, the King and Gawain would hunt together.

It came to be that the Queen finally withdrew, however she offered him one last thing; a girdle of her’s to magically protect him from the Green Knight. Sir Gawain didn’t give this to the King and lied as a result. He was worried he wouldn’t survive the fight otherwise.

“However, by breaking his promise, Gawain ended up slain by the King who turned out to be the Knight himself.” Arthur ended, “And so Sir Gawain was ended by his own dishonesty.”

“He wasn’t protected by the girdle?”

“Well.” Arthur shrugs, “it was a lie of course. What else would you expect from a scheming undead knight?”

Kiku chuckles. During the story, the night had gone on without them. The train was quiet save for its own mechanical workings. The other passengers were silent however; Arthur wonders if they were the only two left awake. It was odd; he didn’t feel tired at all.

“It’s a good story.” Kiku comments, “I’m not surprised at the moral. Chivalry seemed very important back then.”

“I’d like to think it’s still important now.” Arthur smiles, “But then again, people are only human.”

Kiku chuckles at the joke again. He casts his eyes downward, however, deep in thought. Something was clearly on his mind, and Arthur could sense this. He reached out.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” He blinks, “It’s as if she was hunting him too.”

“Sorry?”

“The Queen. She was so persistent to have him, and I think she won in the end.”

Arthur leans back, getting comfy, “True. Lots of scholars have said the same thing. Sir Gawain let himself show weakness, so he was killed. It’s just like any other game.”

Kiku goes quiet again. Arthur wasn’t sure where the mood was going then, and it confused him. Kiku was getting harder to read, and although Arthur was sure he knew him well, at this point he was finding himself proven wrong. Kiku’s silence wasn’t thoughtful and it wasn’t careful. It felt like it was buying time. It felt like it was forming something new. Kiku looks up, and his eyes were clouded windows, something Arthur couldn’t see in. All he found, was his own reflection, and Kiku’s emotions were a mystery to him.

“I don’t think she wanted his demise.” Kiku countered. “I think she simply wanted him. Perhaps tainting him was the only way to do that.”

The air in the car seemed to get heavier with the sentence. Arthur felt a familiar pressure crush against his heart. It was the same feeling he got when they were together during the fox hunt. It felt strange to him and so sudden. Kiku looked so different, a patient but ready figure. Arthur tries to shake it off; he tells himself it was all in his head.

“Y-You think so? I didn’t think you’d be on the villain's side.” Arthur replies, incredulous. Kiku shrugs.

“On the surface, she does sound like a villain, doesn’t she? But how do you think Sir Gawain felt?”

“Well, he did get killed.”

“I mean before.” Kiku continues, no malice to his tone. “Do you think he hated lying? As someone who worked so hard to be pure before?”

Arthur realizes his breathing has become deeper. It reaches into the bottom of his lungs, and there’s something quivering beneath his skin. The train shakes beneath him, and the car feels small. Before, he had found it so comforting the idea of being alone with Kiku with the world far away. But now, it had been turned on its head. Arthur is alone with Kiku and it doesn’t feel so sweet as it did before.

He’s beginning to realize Kiku stopped talking about the story a long time ago. Just as always, his most intimate messages were hidden between the words of another topic. It just took a while to decipher it. Arthur gulps and he looks away, prying his eyes off Kiku. He watches the window, and in its reflection he can still see Kiku watching him from across the car.

There’s a part of him that’s desperately hoping he can watch him get up from his seat. And like watching a movie, he wants to see him close the space between them and do something horrible and lovely.

“It’s interesting to think perhaps Sir Gawain also derived from joy from it.” Kiku mused, “Don’t you think?”

Arthur’s mind is thinking about knights and hunts and Kiku’s soft voice. The story had always been told to him as a story about the fallacy of man. He’d never thought of Gawain as anything other than a victim. And just as when he was a boy, he’d always found the prey to be the loser. To die at the hand of a hunter...who would want that? It shows one’s weakness, it’s the end to a game and there was no coming back. It was just common sense, and yet…

Arthur finds he’s beginning to be scared of Kiku. His words were so convincing and his affections were so vague. Arthur wants to mean something to him, and yet he’s not sure how badly he wants that and he’s not sure how Kiku wants him. Arthur’s body feels alert, and Kiku hasn’t gotten up yet. He’s wondering if this is a new kind of torture.

Outwardly, Arthur shrugs, “It certainly is an interesting way to read it.”

In the window’s reflection, Kiku doesn’t stir. After a moment, he finally smiles tiredly, and leans back. He leans his head against his hand, elbow on the shoulder rest, and Kiku lets out a loud sigh. Arthur wonders if he’s won this round, or if he’s failed. What’s certain is that Kiku is visibly dissatisfied.

“ _Return to me what you receive in the evening_ ,” Kiku repeats the sentence as if trying the words out on his tongue, “I like that line.”

“Do you?”

Arthur’s just trying to fill in the silence at this point, but a dull still sits between them despite his efforts. After a moment, Arthur wonders if he should just give the paltry excuse that he’s tired so that Kiku could leave. (Of course he doesn’t want Kiku to leave, but he’s too confused to make him stay.) Before he can say anything, he hears a faint, haughty laugh. It sounds so strange to him because he’s never heard Kiku make such a confident sound. It’s enough of a surprise to draw his eyes forward, and when he does he finds Kiku looking at him. He looks from under his brow, and there’s a smile on his face. The way he holds himself is different. He’s all strong indifference and it makes Arthur feel so weak.

“I wonder,” he breathes, “when you will do the same for me.”

Arthur blushes. With one sentence alone, he feels his strength fall away and his legs and body are weak. His heart is pounding like crazy, and he’s so enamoured with Kiku’s honesty. The meaning is not lost on him, and its idea hits him all in one moment.

Kiku had run to him that evening and now he wanted payment.

Arthur could easily see this as an attack. He could very easily read Kiku as a villain and although he had happily done it before, he finds himself struggling with it now. Instead of feeling attacked or scared, Arthur is only consumed with thoughts of how to repay him. Perhaps he was still getting over the shock of Kiku’s first bout of open honesty, but Arthur’s head was spinning.

 _Kiss me_ , he keeps thinking pathetically, _Just kiss me already._

He’s beginning to think a kiss isn’t enough. His thoughts become tainted with his love for him; he wants to give him so much more. Not just lips, but his tongue, his chest, his breath, his heart. There’s so much to offer him; a taut stomach, spread thighs, hands gripping sheets. Hair splayed out on bedsheets, his name on his lips, and something even deeper. His body to hold him until Kiku was done with it, his unwavering obedience, and Arthur’s love. Oh God, he’s only now realizing how much love he has to give. Arthur finds himself quivering in his seat and Kiku’s eyes are so dark but so welcoming.

Arthur gulps. He tries to say something but he hesitates. A long moment passes, every minute felt. They sit across from each other with heavy air, and Kiku ends the charade altogether.

He gives up.

“My apologies. Perhaps it’s my fatigue; I’m afraid I said something strange now. Please forgive me.”

Arthur wants to say no, that he understands. But he still can’t speak. Instead, his mind reverts to self-preservation, and he surrenders as well.

“No, no, it’s fine. I didn’t take anything from it.” He lies, “Y-You should get some rest.”

“Mm.” Kiku hums, and he looks away. Arthur is waiting for Kiku’s anger or more cool indifference. What he watches instead surprises him. Kiku had been so confident before, and so strong, that Arthur was waiting for him to keep it up. As if that had been Kiku all along, under layers of politeness and good manners. Perhaps, all along, Kiku had been more assertive, a black and white character to discover that made the situation all the more simple.

But to think of Kiku in that way was incredibly disrespectful. To put Kiku in one spot was a disservice. And Arthur feels that guilt as he watches Kiku’s eyes go downward, his shoulders slump, and faintly, a softening to his eyes.

Kiku was sad.

And Arthur remembers Kiku had never been a simple figure, but still human all along.

Kiku bows his head and the emotion was fleeting but it had been there. Arthur was still struck. He’s not used to seeing Kiku be sad. He’s even more hurt that he caused it. It dawns on him just how much emotion there was behind Kiku’s actions. Just as before, he realizes it had been so easy to just say Kiku was out for his own gain, that he was only asserting his own needs, and that he was simply acting on instinct. He forgot that Kiku could feel something more. By protecting himself, Arthur was mistreating Kiku. He wasn’t trying to understand him.

He wasn’t even giving him the chance.

Kiku gives some half-hearted pleasantries. He reads from a script he knows well, and Arthur gives fruitless answers to keep up the act. Kiku bids him good night, and the smile he gives him is so tired. It keeps hurting Arthur just how sad he looked.

When the door shuts, Arthur wishes he hadn’t been so scared. He knows he was avoiding him. There was something so horrible in how Kiku showed his human side at the end, and Arthur regrets everything.

He wonders if the Queen truly loved Sir Gawain. He realizes that may not even matter.

* * *

Weeks pass after their moment on the train, and Arthur notices Kiku visibly withdraws from him. What had been a close and warm partnership that was flirting with something more, had suddenly cooled into a quiet alliance between nations. Kiku didn’t become hateful to Arthur, but more so he became subdued. He treated him with the same courtesy he did their other peers and although it was socially acceptable, to Arthur it was emotional torture. He’d hurt him. He realized in his own way he had hurt him. They didn’t speak about it (because how _do_ you speak about it). But it was there under the surface of their conversations, teeming and frustrated.

It wasn’t that Arthur rejected him. No, in fact, he had just pretended he didn’t hear him at all, and this was where the injustice lay. Without even giving him the chance to talk Arthur had betrayed him. He wonders if Kiku would be acting the same if he had just come out and turned him down. Arthur knows he wouldn’t be able to do that, however. In the end, he didn’t know what to do at all. He was wavering.

Arthur liked Kiku. If he finally shut off that stubborn and prideful side of him, he could say he definitely liked Kiku. There was an affection there that was clearly different than anything he felt for anybody else. There was a need and a worry there for Kiku that was stronger than it should’ve been. There was love. Despite his disgust at the very idea, Arthur had fallen in love with Kiku. It was incredibly inappropriate as far as an alliance went, and although not taboo for a nation, it was still futile. They were immortal and they were representatives; personal feelings are secondary to everything else.

After all, Arthur had already learned that lesson when he had found himself crying in front of somebody he had thought of as family. He had learned that lesson when he found his pride in shambles and a musket pointed at his forehead.

And so Arthur is ashamed to feel love. Like everything else, he punishes himself with guilt and second-guesses. He knows he’s in love, and if he could give Kiku everything, he would. But he’s England and he’s been hurt and he’s stubborn. So he doesn’t give a yes or a no but rude ignorance. He weighs the pros and cons, but he knows the longer he takes the more Kiku withdraws and the more he misses his chance. It’s not a breathtaking love affair, and to be honest the affection was tinged with lust. It’s all bodily and spur of the moment, and it’s nothing lovely like destiny or soulmates.

But he _wants_. Oh God, he wants him so badly, and wasn’t that enough?

Arthur has been musing on this a long while. He’s still stumbling but his decision comes to a head finally. The evening is dark and misty and he’s in a drawing room watching Alfred shuffle a deck of cards. There is a bowl of caramels on the table and Arthur sips his glass of brandy. In the corner of the room, a grandfather clock ticks on.

“So we’re betting right?” Alfred asks nonchalantly as he deals their hands. “Money? Or something else?”

Arthur’s realizing the way Alfred holds himself has gotten much looser. It’s as if everytime he sees him he becomes more unrefined, like he’s degrading. His speech is more informal, his movements more grand. It must be nice to be young.

“I don’t understand your sudden fascination with betting.” Arthur scoffs, leaning over and grabbing his hand. “You know money’s no importance to us.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thrill of Poker. Don’t you want to try it at least once?”

Arthur has betted on boxers and horses before, but he’s still getting used to card games. He eyes the cards and reaches in his pocket to throw some coins on the table. Alfred makes a face at the small amount, but Arthur ignores it.

“I would’ve preferred chess.”

“You’re so old-fashioned.” Alfred huffs, but throws in some money as well. The amount is enough to buy a pint of ale and nothing more.

Alfred had come that evening because business had him in London and it made sense to make a courtesy call. He had come in with his own bag of candy and a game he discovered on the Mississippi river, or so he said. When the rules were explained to Arthur, they sounded vaguely familiar to other European card games to him, but he let Alfred believe he’d found his own thing. He was young after all, and severely lacking in culture as a result.

Arthur’s not sore about the war anymore. At least, not consciously. He’s only incredibly petty about how Alfred’s grown up without his guidance. He’s grown considerably during that time, and Arthur keeps hearing second-hand all the big decisions he’s been making and all the land he’s been getting. To Arthur, he’s growing up way too fast. He keeps thinking somewhere along the way he’ll break.

(But these were all subconscious worries, something mixed with parental care and the feelings of a sore loser.)

Arthur counts the value of his hand, and frowns. When he looks up, Alfred’s face is noticeably blank, but his eyes watch him. In the air, he feels like he’s missing something. Arthur discards two cards and draws two. His hand had turned into a fair amount and he smiles.

“So?” Arthur speaks up, “What brings you to London? I haven’t heard about anything.”

“I had business with France. I thought I’d stop by and pay you a visit.”

Arthur feels tension stiffen his neck. He doesn’t like Alfred and Francis working together. It was a sore reminder. He also didn’t trust Francis with _anything_ to be honest.

“Oh? With what?”

“I’m allowed to keep secrets too.”

Arthur furrows his brow and looks up at Alfred. Alfred’s face is still blank, placid, but there’s a hardness to his eyes. He doesn’t elaborate, but motions to Arthur’s hand with his chin.

“Are you done? This is the part where we compare hands.”

“Yes, yes. I _know._ ”

They throw down their hands. Alfred’s won. He smiles like a kid and rakes in the money, popping another caramel in his mouth when he’s got the chance. Arthur feels a bit sore and he finds the whole image irritating. He gathers their cards and angrily shuffles the deck for them.

“What did you mean by that?”

“By what?”

“You know what I mean.”

Arthur deals, and Alfred eyes him, still confident, still brazen, still bitter.

“Well, I mean it’s weird. I’m still trying to figure it out. Why you did what you did.”

“Get to the point.”

Alfred gives a weak smirk, and he reaches into his pocket and produces some bills, throwing them on the table between them. He’s upped the ante and Arthur feels unnerved.

“Of all the people to break your splendid isolation with, why did you choose Japan?”

Arthur feels his heart stop. He instantly wonders what happened to the Alfred he used to know. When had this politically savvy upstart replaced him? No, but he realizes he’s probably still there. All this false bravado was just a ploy to be taken seriously as a young nation, something to convince Europe that he was on their level. Well, it didn’t matter now. A gauntlet was thrown down, and Kiku was at the center of their conversation. Arthur treads carefully, and it’s a path he knows well. Politics were a delicate thing after all.

“We shared the same viewpoints.” Arthur shrugs, and throws in some of his own money as well. It matches Alfred’s bet. “We had the same agenda. That was it.”

And in the beginning that really had been it, but something’s changed. Like hell Arthur would tell Alfred that, though. He looks at his cards, and he’s satisfied with the amount. Alfred discards and draws.

“I’ll be honest with you, Arthur. I don’t trust him.”

For a moment, Kiku’s face flashes through Arthur’s mind. The dark hair, the mysterious smile. He’s mostly offended by Alfred’s statement, but there’s a part of him that’s also sympathetic. Though, mostly it's the anger that takes over. Suddenly he re-thinks his decision and discards two cards to the pile. What he draws brings down his hand’s value and Arthur’s simmering.

“Why’s that? Weren’t you the one to drag him out of his isolation?”

“Oh, well. That’s different.” Alfred shrugs, and goes for another candy, “That’s trade. He’s good for trade, and he’s _interesting_ sure.”

Arthur doesn’t like the way he said interesting. It felt shallow.

“But I don’t know what he’s planning, you know? Oh, also,” Alfred swallows, “I didn’t _drag_ him out. Christ.”

When they throw down their hands and Arthur loses, he feels his neck heat up. He takes a swig of his brandy to calm down. Arthur doesn’t know why this is angering him so much. There was probably a multitude of reasons; because he was losing, because he was faced with an arrogant Alfred, because he had to be grilled on a partnership he was already sure he had messed up. Or maybe because Alfred was serving as a bitter reminder of _why_ he kept messing up relationships.

When Alfred gathers the money, he gives Arthur a look. He’s not stupid.

“Hey, what are you so angry about it? Is your alliance not working out?”

Arthur’s always been brash and quick to anger. His anger had always been honest and never liked hiding, and as always it voiced itself even now.

“I don’t appreciate you talking about him like this.”

Alfred watches him for a moment, mindlessly chewing the candy in his mouth. His throat bobs when he swallows and he smiles.

“This is new.” He points out, “I didn’t think you had a soft spot for Asia.”

“ _Alfred.”_

“Outside of trade, I mean. You can see it too, can’t you? Japan doesn’t want to be a trade port anymore. So you can understand why I’m nervous.”

Maybe Arthur couldn’t understand because he’d been in Europe’s old club since birth. They were a gaggle of power-hungry brats who tried to control the world, and they had set up a system where they’d always have the upper hand. Of course Arthur couldn’t understand. To the world, Alfred was still a fledgling former colony trying to grow. Trying to be taken seriously. In a twisted sense, Japan could be seen as a rival to that stage. Or maybe, Alfred was trigger-happy because he assumed that’s how the powerful nations acted.

Either way, he was rightly paranoid, but Arthur didn’t see what that had to do with him.

“So?” Arthur leans back, “Are you saying you distrust me too? Is that it?”

Alfred pauses for a moment. There’s a noticeable break in his facade and he fiddles with the pile of bills he won. He throws in two. A smaller bet.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m _worried_ for you.”

Alfred doesn’t look up when he says this, and his voice is a soft mumble spoken into his chest. Looking at him now, Arthur has never felt so nostalgic and so insulted. He looked small again. Considerate. But he was a hundred years too late, and for Arthur to be pitied by Alfred was more of a backhanded insult than a gift. He’s not surprised it took Alfred a roundabout trip to get to the real meat of the conversation, because he was sure even Alfred wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. But for Alfred to look at Arthur’s new alliance and say he was worried for him was degrading. Arthur scoffed. As Alfred looked at him confused, Arthur reached deep into his pockets and threw in a larger bet. He dealt the cards this round.

“ _You_? Worried about _me?_ ” Arthur shook his head, “Don’t make me laugh, I’m not even in trouble.”

“I think he’s using you, Arthur. I don’t trust him.”

“Using me for what?”

“I don’t know!” Alfred throws up his hands, “Power? Recognition? You’ve got more experience than him, there’s a lot he can do with that.”

“Alfred,” Arthur motions, “your hand.”

Alfred looks down at the cards in front of him as if they had just appeared there. He blinked, remembered where they were and what they were doing. He picks them up and gives them a half-hearted glance.

“...I just don’t like the way he looks at you.”

Arthur stops. The bulk of this conversation had gone over his head because honestly he didn’t care. Everything Alfred had spouted up to that point had sounded like paranoid gibberish to him. It was all conjecture and guessing and anxiety. But that sentence meant something. It was an outsider’s point of view that Arthur had needed. Because Arthur was dealing with his own imagined paranoia and it helped to get another’s opinion on the affair.

“...And how does he look at me?”

The grandfather clock ticks on between them, an obvious lull to the conversation. The energy was still buzzing in the air, and Arthur took another sip of his brandy. The ice clinked against the glass and it only magnified Alfred’s silence more. Finally, after a few seconds, Alfred talks.

“It’s weird. Creepy. Like he...like he’s sizing you up.” Alfred gulps, “Like he wants to hurt you.”

It sounded so innocent coming from Alfred. He was clearly unsure how to put it because he clearly didn’t understand it. But chills are going up Arthur’s spine at the thought. Of all the unseen glances Kiku gave him, the things that happened behind his back. And Alfred’s description is wrong because it’s naive. He doesn’t get it because he’s young.

But Arthur gets it. He understands. There’s a fear in the pit of his stomach, but more importantly there’s excitement in his blood.

God. God, he wasn’t wrong at all. This whole time, Kiku wanted something from him. This wasn’t Arthur’s active imagination anymore, but finally the truth. Arthur’s vision finally focuses and he reads his cards. He doesn’t discard anything.

“...Does that scare you?” Arthur asks. He flits his eyes up and Alfred looks uneasy, his mouth a deep-set frown.

“Aren’t you?” he shoots back.

Arthur doesn’t answer because he already knew the truth long ago. He should be scared, shouldn’t he?

“Are you going to change your hand or not?”

Alfred blinks and has to remember his cards again. “N-No.”

“So are we done here? Are you going to increase the bet?”

Alfred has lost all his bravado, as if he’s confused why he’s not getting the response he wanted. He reluctantly throws in more money, and Arthur knows it’s because he pressured him. They compare hands. Arthur’s won.

“Alfred, I’ll only say this once.” Arthur says as he rakes in his winnings. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I’m not-”

“I don’t know why you think you need to protect me. I’m sure you think you know everything now.” Arthur thumbs through the bills, straightening them out, “But you don’t.”

Alfred openly simmers. Perhaps he was trying to throw his weight around because he thought he had enough. Maybe he was trying to insert himself into _somebody’s_ politics because he thought that was just another step to glory. Alfred was trying to be an adult. Arthur had raised him long enough to recognize this. But either way, whatever reason he had, it didn’t matter to Arthur. What mattered is what information Alfred had given to him.

From the beginning, Arthur had indeed been pursued. Kiku had been hunting him. There were ulterior motives to his actions that were all self-serving. Arthur had been his prey. And just as Alfred said, he could take this negatively. He could realize he was being played with and could stop this game in its tracks. Arthur could protect himself, but…

But Alfred had it wrong. Alfred was innocent. He hadn’t realized Kiku wasn’t hunting Arthur for political reasons. No, the politics had nothing to do with it, this was more _carnal_.

Arthur was guilty of it too, honestly. His knee-jerk reaction was to assume this was all a bad thing and he had to run away. He assumed being the prey was horrible and had to be avoided. He had assumed being prey meant he was _lesser_ and _weaker_.

But Arthur realized this was a child’s assumption. That maybe being pursued wasn’t so bad. That maybe being prey could have its own benefits.

It’s own pleasures.

He smiles at Alfred, and pockets the money. The tides had shifted, and although Arthur’s accepted his place, he feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Look. There are just some things between us you wouldn’t understand. And there’s really no point explaining it to you.”

Arthur reaches over and pops a caramel in his mouth. He ignores Alfred’s glare.

“Now. Fancy a game of chess?” He smiles.

“Don’t come crying to me when it all goes to hell.”

Arthur chews. The caramel is buttery and sweet, and he barely thinks about Alfred’s response. His mind is elsewhere, three weeks from now when his next visit to Japan is scheduled.

He’s going to stop running. He’s decided he’s going to just lay down and die.

He wants to enjoy every minute of it.

* * *

He doesn’t get his chance until the evening of his arrival. Arthur doesn’t see the point in waiting for the moment because Arthur, when taken by passions, is prone to just seizing opportunities and making them his.

On the boat ride there, he considers what he’s going to do. If Kiku rejects him, it will be a stain on their relationship that they may never come back from. Arthur knows Kiku is too insightful to fall prey to subtle messages. He’ll know what he’s talking about even if he tries to be coy about it. Arthur’s always been sure about the others, but Kiku is polite and well-mannered and ambitious. He can’t go back on his word when he makes this step.

Kiku will not be the first partner Arthur’s had. He, of course, will not be the first alliance partner he’s ever taken to bed.

Arthur’s not loose and he’s not reckless. He just doesn’t ignore what he wants when there’s no consequences. He’s a consenting immortal with time to kill and people to survive with. It happens. He’s not sure if Kiku knows this part of him, and he’s not sure if he wants to tell him. It depends. But more importantly, Arthur’s realizing Kiku’s different from all of them. It usually came from a place of impulse and loneliness, but him and Kiku have taken their time. Arthur wasn’t being shallow when Kiku accepted the alliance. When he saw him under the stars there was something deeper at work. His heart wasn’t yet ready to know where it was going, but it was reacting more significantly than what Arthur’s used to. It’s all temporary; all of his relationships are temporary. The person he wakes up in bed with will be gone eventually and this is understood.

Kiku doesn’t feel temporary. That scares Arthur.

In those kinds of shallow relationships there is also a power at play. It’s not just the physical sense, but the bantering sense. You must show your partner you know this is temporary and this doesn’t faze you. You mustn't show you’re more attached than them. That’s just losing. And Arthur knows he must never lose.

Arthur’s losing. That also scares him.

Once, long ago, Arthur never considered what it would mean to be prey. It was too frightening a thought to even entertain. But he’s starting to see the appeal. For one, he’s never been this honest with his feelings. He’s never been able to talk about his actual emotions with someone else like this. He’s scared but he also wants to give this frightened heart of his to someone.

Arthur wants to be vulnerable. He wants to be weak and he wants to be open and he wants to _trust._ It’s perhaps more passionate than the carnal desires he has right now. He wants to take off everything and offer himself to Kiku and know that he’ll be okay. Kiku would have all the power over him of course, but it’s so much more than that. He will be loved. Above all else this is what Arthur has craved and never had. The chance to say he trusts someone and to not have it backfire on him.

Did this make him weaker, he wonders? Or did this make him human?

(Was there a difference?)

When Arthur gets off the boat, Kiku is all curt business as usual, lots of welcoming him back and getting into matters and talking about issues. They don’t get a moment alone until Kiku shows Arthur to his usual room that night. When he make sure he has all he needs, he’s bowing at the door and about to speak before Arthur stops him.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Arthur smiles, “Keep me company for awhile.”

Kiku watches him for a moment, paused at the door. He fingers the edge of it for awhile but finally nods. Arthur wonders if he should be thankful Kiku couldn’t fight his curiosity. Or perhaps his hesitation only had a moment’s weakness. It didn’t matter. Arthur Kirkland wanted something and he’s a selfish child until he gets it. Kiku keeps his distance and he sits seiza style a ways from him. His shoulders are squared and to Arthur he looks like a safe he has to unlock. Kiku looks unsure and casts a glance to the door.

“Er,” he clears his throat, “Would you like me to send for some tea and snacks?”

Arthur considers this for a moment. Of course, he doesn’t want them to be disturbed. But also, Kiku is visibly on guard and tense. He wasn’t here to hurt him, rather he wanted to come to an understanding. Arthur nods, and says just tea is fine. He lets the conversation go down a safer route, a more boring route. He brings up the topic of his trip. Kiku visibly loosens up as they talk more, while they wait for their drinks. It’s as if his entire presence takes a breath of relief, and although he’s not intimate he’s more open. There is a soft knock at the door and their tea arrives. It’s fragrance fills the room and its warmth fills Arthur and he can tell things are slowly inching their way back to how they were before. He is leaning against the table and he watches Kiku talk (something about the coming seasons, it didn’t matter) and Arthur’s heart is aching. It should be clarified that Arthur is not here to make Kiku uncomfortable. Instead he wants him to confess. Arthur had turned him away once before and so Kiku had become skittish, he realizes that. His partner was someone who didn’t try to pursue his own passions after being given a strict no. But Arthur had changed his mind, and so he had to get Kiku tell him, in his own words, something was still there.

Arthur was ready to indulge him, but he wanted to know if Kiku still wanted him too.

When Kiku visibly relaxes, when his body weakens and his shoulders slack and his face is not a mask anymore but a soft visage is when Arthur strikes.

Arthur reaches into his vest pocket and slips out a box of matches and a pack of cigarettes. The pack is a bright red and Arthur sees Kiku watch him as he takes one out.

“You want one? I know you prefer a pipe, but it feels pretty much the same to me.”

Kiku eyes it for a moment. The mood is shifting slowly. Wordlessly, he picks one out with lithe fingers. When Arthur strikes the match and goes to light Kiku’s he feels the tension when Kiku leans forward. Kiku’s on alert now, all worried formalities are gone. There is no weakness here, but defenses. He holds the cigarette between his lips, between his fingers and they are close but only for a moment. Arthur holds his gaze. Kiku withdraws when the cigarette begins to burn.

A shot has been fired.

Arthur lights his own and shakes out the match when he’s done with it. Looking up, he sees Kiku gone, and looking behind him he sees him opening the window just a tad. Kiku leans against it, blowing smoke into the night air.

“You know, I’ve been thinking lately. About something we talked about before.” Arthur speaks up. Kiku, with his back turned to him, feels distant. He shakes off some ash. With the very mention of Arthur’s voice, he is like the strings on a puppet being pulled taut. Kiku is aware once more. His shoulders are squared and his frame is rigid.

“Which is?”

“Hunting.”

Kiku softens a bit. Arthur wonders what he was expecting from him. Arthur’s not a fool and he knows Kiku. He’s worked with him long enough to get a feel for his personality. Kiku’s smart, he’s subtle, he’s quiet. You don’t ask someone like him straight out because he’s more likely to draw back more.

“Did you wish to invite me to another one of your fox hunts?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just want to hear more.” Arthur leans forward a bit, towards him. “Of how you’d do it.”

Kiku doesn’t flinch. He isn’t visibly shaken. Instead he keeps his back straight and his eyes forward. Kiku is strong, Arthur realizes. He is ruthless.

“So you want to hear more stories.”

“I just have some questions.”

Kiku is quiet for a moment. He takes in another breath of smoke.

“Kiku,” Arthur almost whispers, “come here. It’s too cold out.”

His shoulders stiffen again. His body almost shivers. And Arthur is thrilled at the reaction that only his voice gets him. He wants Kiku to focus on this right now. On him. He’s tempted to tell him he doesn’t want to be disturbed. He wants to tell him that there’s a reason for all of this. But this is a delicate dance they’re performing and Arthur’s trying to get Kiku to falter. He is mentally stepping lightly and watching him closely. He can’t be too forward. This is a dance, he tells himself, this is all a dance.

Wordlessly, Kiku taps his cigarette on the edge again, and turns towards Arthur. He takes long strides back to him, and when he sits back across the table, Arthur wants to just reach out. To just show him. But he already knows Kiku’s not that sort of person, not that sort of man, and so he just blows out some smoke and watches his words.

“What would you choose?” he asks first. Kiku takes a sip of his tea, and looks at the cup when he answers.

“Whatever seemed more challenging. Whatever could train us. Deers mostly. Boars.”

“You said it was just a pastime.” Arthur points out, “But did you ever have fun?”

Kiku pauses. Arthur’s new to speaking two different sentences, to putting hidden messages in his words, but he was trying. He just hoped Kiku could notice.

“It depends on the prey.”

Arthur gulps.

“I don’t mean to sound cold.” Kiku closes his eyes, “As I said before, I didn’t take pleasure in it. I offered prayer and thanks with each one. It’s just…”

“Just?”

“I suppose it was necessity.” He shrugs, “Not for food, but for experience.”

Arthur’s heart is aching. Despite himself, he remembers Alfred’s hollow warnings. While Arthur could say this was all about carnal desire, there was still a possibility it was all a trick. He has a lot to offer him, and it wasn’t just the surface details. There was knowledge, there was favoritism, and in this immortal life Arthur really only has one enemy. He sits across from him, and Arthur may be wavering. Arthur may be putting himself in danger.

He advances, nonetheless.

“But you enjoyed it.”

Kiku stops. He takes a moment, but he puts his tea cup down, and still balancing the cigarette between his fingers, he brings it to his lips.

“What do you mean?” Kiku mutters.

“I’ve been there too.” Arthur confesses, “You put yourself at the other end of a bow and arrow and you aim and you know it’s survival.”

Kiku slides his eyes over to him. He’s interested.

“But it’s not just survival is it?”

The side of Kiku’s mouth twitches just a bit. He almost smiles.

“Are you saying there’s a thrill to it?” Kiku guesses. The room is falling away for Arthur. His entire self is focused on this. Dance carefully, he tells himself. Dance carefully.

“I just think we keep saying there wasn’t a thrill to it. We keep saying it’s for survival or for experience, but I think we’re lying to ourselves. It can be exciting. I mean of course that’s horrible to say, but it doesn’t change the fact it can be thrilling.”

Kiku keeps watching him, weighing his next move, and there’s butterflies flying in Arthur’s stomach, banging against the ribcage and wanting out. Something is telling him to stop. Something is telling him to be careful.

(He doesn’t listen.)

“What are you trying to say?” Kiku asks.

“I’m just trying to figure out why we lie to ourselves.”

“...Are you saying I’m lying?”

“I know you are.”

Arthur had finished his tea a long time ago. He taps out the ash in his empty cup and his chest is tight. The window is open so the room’s not hazy, but it still smells like cigarette smoke. Arthur wished he could dim the lamp. It feels entirely too bright in there. Perhaps he feels too exposed. Kiku is now watching him full on; his face is cold marble and polite smiles. He’s hiding but watching. Arthur doesn’t know if he has the advantage.

“You want my opinion?”

“I do.”

“I believe we lie to ourselves because it’s the wise thing to do. We can’t always be so impulsive. It’s wisdom that makes us human and not animals.”

Arthur blows out some smoke. It burned his lungs. He smirks.

“You’re still lying.” He points out.

Kiku says nothing.

Arthur has been patient. He’s watched his dance steps, he’s made the right moves, he’s set the mood, he needs to strike. There’s no use avoiding it anymore. There is prey and hunter in a forest and they’ve watched each other for too long. There’s no need for tension anymore but just bare and raw action. Arthur licks his lips.

“Why did you decide to pursue me?”

The room stops. Arthur was waiting for Kiku to shiver, to shake, to show some sort of weakness but he doesn’t. He still sits there, stoically, and although his smile is gone, his strength isn’t.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He lies. “Are you worried about our alliance?”

“Not the alliance.” Arthur frowns. He’s beginning to get irritated. Kiku is entirely too good with words and it was beautiful but also grating. “Just _me_.”

Kiku is still acting unaffected. He won’t budge. He still wears the same expression and it irritates Arthur. He had thought his move was world-shaking, he assumed that had been it. But Kiku is still evasive, his defenses are hardened. Arthur had spoken too soon.

“Arthur-san” Kiku says steadily, “have I done something to anger you?”

Arthur grips the edge of the table. No, no, not like this. He’s filtering through different things to say next. He had set the stage. He had set the mood. He just didn’t have the right words. He had confronted him but Kiku is still too cunning. There was no use accusing him, because he just brushed it off. How would he get him to confess? How would he get him to understand?

And then Arthur remembers. He’s not there to fight. If Kiku is the hunter and he is his prey, this wasn’t about running from him. This wasn’t about besting him.

This was about the chase. This was about making a choice.

“You haven’t.” Arthur says quietly, “In fact, I think I’m the one who hurt you.”

It’s then Kiku shakes.

It’s only for a moment. A flash, then it was gone. There was a twitch to his mouth, a softness to his eyes, a weak moment. Arthur keeps going. He had been entirely too aggressive. It was time to be gentle.

“On the train, you asked me to repay you. I...I haven’t. And I want to.”

Kiku gulps.

“You don’t want to lie to me, I know.” Arthur leans forward. “So don’t.”

Kiku doesn’t respond at first. Kiku shuts his eyes. He takes in a long shuddering breath, like he’s trying to steady himself. Arthur feels incredibly vulnerable then, and to be honest he’s scared. He’s never been this open before, and he’s not used to taking stupid risks. Arthur is a person who’s focused on self-preservation and survival. He’s a person who’s been hurt more times then he’d cared to remember. He’s loved and been broken. He’s always on guard. So to show this side to Kiku is new to him. Frightening.

But there’s a large part of him that wants to be his. There’s such an overwhelming need to be his and his alone. And he can’t have that if he’s not willing to give some of it away.

Kiku gets up.

It startles Arthur at first, and honestly, he’s not sure what’s going to happen next. He hadn’t planned this far. But Kiku walks past him, and Arthur watches him snuff out the rest of his cigarette on the windowsill and throw it out. He sighs loudly and audibly, pushing his hair out of his face. When Kiku turns to look at him, the mask has been broken, the marble is gone, and there is simply himself. Tired, anxious, and open. His hair is still a little ruffled and his shoulders are lax.

“How long have you known?” he asks quietly.

“You weren’t exactly subtle.”

Kiku looks to the side. He grimaces.

“...And your thoughts?”

Arthur would love to spill them out right there. He’d love it even more to just _show_ them right there. But there’s a part of him that’s still in love, still vain, and maybe just wants to know where they stand. Oh yes, he may be stalling. But Arthur wants to have some power even now.

“You haven’t answered me yet.” Arthur reminds him, “Tell me and I’ll tell you.”

“Tell you what?”

“Why did you pursue me?”

Kiku looks back at him. He looks unsure. He closes his eyes as if in pain, as if trying to contain something.

“The alliance-”

“Damn the alliance, Kiku.” Arthur hisses, “This won’t affect it. Right now, it’s just you and me.”

It may have been a lie or a promise. But for now Arthur’s tired of politics, of vague games played between world powers. He just wants it to be them, just the stupid human element of it all. Emotions. Passion. Animalistic qualities that held them all back. Perhaps this was his romantic side coming out, because he could barely remember being England in Kiku’s eyes.

Kiku opens his eyes. Their gazes meet. An unspoken agreement falls between them, a safe spot where they decided whatever happened here wouldn’t affect all the things out there. It was just them. Frighteningly or comfortingly, for now it was just them.

“I first heard about you from Netherlands.”

Kiku’s confession sits as a beginning between them, a story being raveled.

“I’ll admit, you didn’t stand out then. There...there was a lot to keep up with. There were so many of you. As much as I would’ve liked to stay in isolation, I know I would have to meet you all someday. So it was enough to know the basics.”

He takes in a deep breath.

“But then Netherlands began to...get angry. He didn’t say anything nice for awhile.”

Arthur wasn’t surprised. For some time he and Netherlands had been watching and circling each other. Trying to keep the other in check. Trying to best them.

“And then I was interested.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“At first it was for the political knowledge. But then I heard about your ambition. Your piracy age. Your...failed colony.” Kiku sighs, and leans against the window sill, “I asked him to bring some of your literature. And it...it was strange to me.”

“What was?”

“You were such a paradox.”

Arthur freezes in place when Kiku meets his eyes again. Despite himself, he looks away.

“You’re resourceful. Aggressive. Yet, you have moments of softness. I…”

Kiku bites his lower lip. He shakes his head.

“I should stop.” He announces.

“Why?”

“I’m afraid if I go any further I…” he gulps, “...I’m just afraid to go further.”

It was a warning, Arthur realizes. The same as a poisonous creature’s colors. Kiku’s chest is rising and falling noticeably. He ignores it.

“Keep going.”

Kiku eyes him warily, but concedes.

“...You interested me. Your writing’s are romantic but your aspirations are frightful. Your history is sad but you keep trying to take everything. I couldn’t understand you.”

“...I interested you.” Arthur guesses.

Kiku smiles at this. It’s slow and given mysteriously and it sends energy up Arthur’s spine. He wanted this. He wanted so much more of this. He wanted to catch his attention and keep it. He wanted to make sure no one else was there to match him. It was his and his alone.

“Then you showed up.” Kiku continued, “You gave me roses.”

Kiku slides his arms from their support on the window sill. He crosses them, fabric running against fabric, and his hands are pressed against the insides of his arms. He appraises Arthur for a moment, who is left blushing.

“You’re much different up close.” Kiku confides, “You’re...sweeter. You’re kinder to me. But I know your past and I know what you’ve done.”

Kiku grips the fabric of his sleeve instinctually. “I’ll be honest; I am grateful for your kindness. In fact, if I may be bold, I...I am humbled by it. But…”

“But?”

Kiku stops again. He looks away, again. He seems fidgety, uncertain, a lot of energy stopped up. He shakes his head.

“I should really stop. I...I don’t think it would be wise if I continued.”

Another warning. Kiku is biting his lip, trying to divert his skittish energy elsewhere. He wasn’t nervous, Arthur knows that. This was some other desire being suppressed. He’s realizing he’s somehow tricked Kiku into some roundabout form of foreplay by making him talk like this. With that thought, Arthur is beginning to feel that same static, something being held back, something longing for release. Maybe it was his fight or flight response kicking in. For a moment, his mind is elsewhere, to a time when he was younger. Running in a forest, notching a bow, his heart pounding like crazy, swears bleeding out of his mouth. Fear, and exhilaration dancing in his chest, together and in tandem. He’s never ignored this part of him up this point, so why would he want to break tradition now when things were going so well?

“Keep going.” He commands again. He doesn’t want Kiku to hold back. He’s surprised how sturdy his voice is, despite the fact his head is swimming.

“I appreciate,” Kiku breathes, “how ruthless you can be.”

Arthur gulps.

(If only for a moment, please imagine a boy in a forest.)

“I know that’s wrong of me to say. I know I shouldn’t. However, it’d also be a lie if I said I wasn’t impressed. There are so many parts to you I’m still finding out, Arthur. I…” Kiku’s cheeks turn a charming pink, “...I’m finding myself attracted to all of them.”

(The boy is tall but young. He is achingly thin and he is holding a fake confidence to his shoulders. If one were to clean him up, we could call him handsome. For now, his hair is a dirty blond and his eyes are a harsh green. The scowl to his face is an attempt at bravado, as it has been for his entire life. A quiver of arrows rests against his shoulders and he’s gripping his bow for dear life. The trees are tall and impeding, the forest is dark and sinister. He knows these lands because they are his own, and yet as much as he trusts the land he doesn’t trust its creatures. He’s skittish. He’s lost. Instincts are telling him something in this moment is wrong.)

(Instinct tells him to turn around. And when he does, something meets his eyes. It’s so much more powerful and it’s so much more _hungry_.)

“I can’t tell you when those feelings came to be.” Kiku gulps, “They gradually happened. Before I knew it, I was watching you more often. Your eyes,” Kiku sighs again, “Your golden hair. Your fair face. Your…”

He’s faltering. Arthur frowns.

“Keep going.”

“I shouldn’t-”

“I didn’t say you could stop.” Arthur says sternly, “ _Keep going.”_

Kiku bites his lip again. His chest is rising and falling more noticeably.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” He asks him, voice low and husky. It makes Arthur shiver. For once it wasn’t just his conscious telling him to stop but the very thing trying to kill him. He’s still running. Arthur only has one enemy in this world, and it’s trying to grant him mercy.

(The beast is beautiful but overwhelming. The boy is running. Blood is pumping through his body, and his chest is aching, and he’s been taught to run when he’s overwhelmed. There’s something behind him. It is fast and horrible and it doesn’t want anything else but him. He’s trying. He’s really trying.)

“I’m fully aware.” Arthur challenges him, “ _Keep going.”_

“I wanted you.” Kiku says finally, and the very strength of this sentence sends Arthur’s heart into overdrive, “And I still...I still want you.”

(His young legs can only carry him so far, his chest is aching, he’s going to die. He could run, he needs to run, he’s scared.)

A moment falls between them. Silent but tense. They are separate but there’s something there. A momentum that has stopped, a dare that’s been fulfilled. And now a breathless next step to take.

(The boy meets a dead end. In his panic, he had taken all the wrong steps and all the wrong turns. He spins around and his hunter stands there. Watches him. It doesn’t threaten him and it doesn’t try to intimidate him. Even scarier than a beast that roars is one that is silent. It watches him.)

(He is mesmerized by its beauty.)

He had been wrong all this time. He thought he was stronger then this. When he killed, he used to tell himself _you chose this_ . Why? Had he gotten the idea all wrong? I can _choose,_ he remembers.

It’s running at me. And he’s beginning to realize he was prey, but there were perks to this. Simple. Animalistic. Bestial. Eager.

Ready.

“And what’s stopping you?” Arthur asks him. And just like that, Kiku’s on him.

Maybe it was the purposefully daring tone he had used. Maybe it was the coyness of it. Perhaps, in it’s own way, it was giving permission. Whatever the reason, Arthur had triggered something in Kiku. It had happened before he knew it. There was a soft padding of feet on the floor, but he wasn’t prepared to topple over and look at Kiku straight on. They were so close. His hands were right on his wrists. Arthur is on the ground, pinned down, and his heart is pounding.

“Push me away.” Kiku forces out, face flushed, an unstoppable energy. “Push me away, Arthur.”

“No.” Arthur whispers.

“I don’t know what will happen if you don’t.”

(The beast is here. It’s still hesitating. The boy could run.)

“I won’t.” Arthur repeats.

Kiku’s tearing up. His breathing is deep. His face framed by his black hair is so lovely and desperate. He’s trying to hold back. He’s scared to go forward. Arthur can tell all these things because Kiku for once is being so honest. For a moment, Arthur appreciates Kiku’s thoughtfulness. But he chooses.

(Arthur in the forest steps towards him. It is such a beautiful creature. He drops all his weapons and his fears. He opens his arms and embraces the hunter.)

Slowly, Arthur reaches up and puts a hand on the back of Kiku’s neck. He flinches under him, and Arthur pushes his head down, places his lips on his ear. He smiles.

“Kiku,” he commands, “ _Ruin me._ ”

Kiku kisses him.

And Arthur’s head is spinning. It’s just flesh pressed against flesh, but god it’s so soft, and he can taste him. Tobacco and green tea are mixing in his mouth, and he shuts his eyes. There’s nothing to his world anymore but him. There is no more hesitation and there are hands searching his body. Something is tugging at his shirt and Kiku rips it open. Arthur watches the buttons fly and his blush deepens as Kiku kisses greedily at his chest. Arthur moans. He whimpers. He finally lives.

There are no more words because there’s no more need for words. Instead there are hungry kisses placed on lips and cheeks and jawlines. It’s Kiku who’s taking most of the charge and Arthur wonders how long he’s been waiting, because he’s assuredly eager. He tugs the shirt down from Arthur’s shoulders and Arthur leans his head back the more he explores. He’s thinking himself that every part of him is Kiku’s now. The lower he goes the more Arthur gasps.

Well, actually. There are words. However it’s mostly Arthur’s faint utterance of _More_.

Arthur is a fervent mess under him, begging for more and more until even Kiku gets impatient. When Arthur’s legs are spread, he smiles. He places a sensuous hold on the back of Kiku’s neck, and when their eyes meet, Arthur nods. He allows permission, and Kiku finds what he wants. When he first thrusts, Arthur’s breath catches. He smiles. He should be scared shouldn’t he?

But why?

He’s still wondering why this was something to fear. He wanted Kiku. God, he wanted Kiku. And every second he was getting more of him. Why did this make him lesser? Why did this make him weak? Arthur is being overtaken but he can’t stop enjoying it.

He’s feeling the tatami mat scratch into his back and he’s crying out in joy. He cries for Kiku to go harder. _Harder, harder, harder._ He desperately rips at his clothes and burying his face into Kiku’s shoulder he leaves love bites and whimpers. They’re a complete mess and a whirlwind of passion. He doesn’t know where the hierarchy falls anymore. To be completely honest, he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. They’ve fallen into a mixture of each other, a give and take that wasn’t focused on being fair but on getting more. He scratches his back, and Kiku groans. Arthur is a struggling dying creature below him and he loves it.

Finally, when it all builds up, Arthur throws his head back emitting a delighted and strained cry that wavers and shudders. All the sensations shoot through him all at once, and although he’s been here before, it begins to feel so new. He rides it out, gripping Kiku to keep steady, enjoying every second of his reward, until he finally goes lax. Kiku holds him until he himself is finished, and they collapse into a quiet moment of afterglow and heated breaths.

And then it’s just pleasure.

Arthur watches the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. He feels full. His hips are aching and his legs are weak. Kiku is curled up onto his chest. He’s sure there’s something he should say, but Kiku says it for him instead:

“I love you.” A faint voice raises from them. It breathes. “I love you.”

Arthur closes his eyes. It sounded so delicate and shy. It was Kiku’s own admission of fragility, his own show of vulnerability. It is a gift. Arthur feels like he’s going to cry.

“Before anything else, I want you to know that most of all.” Kiku raises his head weakly, his hair a mess, and his forehead beaded with sweat. To Arthur, he’s radiant.

Arthur wants to say something lovely back. He wants to be poetic. But his mind is still swimming, he’s still coming down from his high. He simply leans up and places sleepy kisses on Kiku, who responds in kind. Maybe he didn’t have to say it. Maybe, in a way, he had already matched it.

Of course it wasn’t their only round that night. _Of course not_. The next day at breakfast, Arthur will watch Kiku carefully evade any questions from his servants where he was last night. But for now, in between those moments, in the soft and slow kisses they share, he will realize how well he was killed. How wonderful death in his arms felt. They really had crossed a line, and Arthur eagerly crosses many more with him that night. Arthur has to respect him for this, and ultimately Arthur loves him for more than just that. Everything that needed to be said was said. And now everything that needed to be done was done.

Arthur was his now. Laying there on a tatami mat floor with their clothes scattered around them, he could say all of him was Kiku’s. It was, after all, his rightful kill.

* * *

The morning is barely beginning when Arthur notices that Kiku is acting different.

Arthur’s bedroom is an old fashioned fixture, and it’s now painted in mid-morning brightness and light. They had the window open so the whole place felt fresh. Outside there is a bird chirping, greeting the rising sun. Mindlessly, Arthur remembers a time when he had a four-poster bed, but that’s the thing with townhouses, you just don’t have the room for such luxuries. But he made up for it with comfy blankets and sheets, and sure enough, the image of Kiku buried in them more than made up for anything that could’ve been lost. Arthur struggles to wake up, blinking sleep from his eyes. He is naked under the sheets, but also warm and satisfied. He glances to his desk, and there’s still the skew of reports on its surface, and even besides that is Kiku’s trunk, a cacophony of clothes scattered about. He’d only arrived yesterday. They’ve been keeping this up for a month now.

They had agreed to keep the politics separate. They had agreed that business always comes before the pleasure. They enjoyed each other, but they also didn’t want to be destroyed by it. This relationship was still budding, so they treaded carefully. Besides, Arthur noticed, the longer they waited for anything, the greater the reward was. Those moments before they indulged were always teeming with excitement. They circled each other eagerly until the clash was made, and then they would just fall into what they were now: happy, cuddling lovers waking up in the morning light. It had taken them awhile, but they had worked something out. But now, watching Kiku’s back, Arthur worries maybe this arrangement wasn’t working. It’s not that Kiku had been cruel to him the night before (he had been anything _but_ cruel). Rather, it was waking up to see him sitting up, hunched over, his head buried in his hands.

“Luv?” Arthur calls out hoarsely. Kiku doesn’t flinch. Instead, he resignedly turns his head to look at him. Arthur is expecting sadness or anger. Instead, Kiku looks more tired then anything. Lost in thought. His eyes are half-lidded and his hair is slightly mussed. He looks comfortable but gone.

“Good morning.”

“Are you alright?”

Kiku looks to the side. He seems to be weighing options in his head, considering pros and cons. He leans back, lands back next to Arthur, and stares at the ceiling. Getting a closer look at him, Arthur takes in how angular Kiku’s jaw is, the sprinkling of bruises on his neck, the way his shoulders curved into his collar bone.

It’s odd to him. Kiku looks so vulnerable then. Something is wrong here.

Kiku, without looking away from the ceiling, moves to grab Arthur’s hand. When he finds it, he brings it to his lips and kisses the soft of his palm. Arthur’s heart leaps at the sudden affection, but Kiku remains unashamed.

“I’m sorry to worry you.” He mutters against his skin. “I was just thinking...this isn’t like me. I never thought I’d be this sort of person.”

Arthur thinks back to the first time he talked with Kiku. He can definitely agree with that.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asks. He doesn’t take his hand away. Instead Kiku brings it down to his chest, and holds onto it loosely. It’s a constant pressure in the moment that Arthur appreciates.

“What do you mean ‘this sort of person’?”

Kiku eyes him for a moment. He looks away, ahead, to some nondescript spot on the ceiling. He’s not really looking anywhere, rather he looks deep in thought. Trying to articulate his thoughts. Perhaps this is new for him too, Arthur wonders. Kiku is a master at double-meanings. It’s intimidating to have to throw that away and just give bare facts without some fake shield to hide behind.

“It’s not that I hate it. I’m just...surprised. Perhaps I’ve been arrogant. I believe I’ve made a mistake everyone makes. I thought I knew everything about myself.” He rubs a thumb on the back of Arthur’s hand. “Will you humor me for a moment?”

“Go ahead.”

They’re very rare, these moments. It’s not that Kiku’s cold, he’s just used to isolation. He doesn’t normally share himself, because he never had to before. He takes his time to consider his thoughts on his own, so he never needs help with it. So the moments when he finally does share himself with Arthur are special. They’re one of the most grandest gestures he can make for him. And while Arthur had gotten used to them before they began this relationship, it feels odd now. More intimate and welcoming. Arthur’s trying to figure out what feels odd in this moment. Now, he surely appreciates it of course. There’s a wonderful feeling to knowing someone trusts you. But here, now, it feels strange. Different.

“I didn’t think I could fall in love.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. Kiku takes a moment, then blushes. He chuckles slightly.

“I’m very sorry. That sounded rather melodramatic, didn’t it?”

“No, no.” Arthur leans forward, “Keep going.”

“I mistakenly thought I had everything understood.” Kiku continues. “Perhaps immortality makes us arrogant? If they say a man never stops learning no matter how old he gets, then it makes sense to believe an immortal would reach the end of that lesson.”

Kiku lets go of Arthur’s hand then, and pushes his bangs from his forehead. More then this vulnerability, Kiku looked comfy too. Arthur is considering Kiku’s words of course, but he’s also considering this moment. Their relationship has taken a slight turn, but nothing had changed so radically from before. Is this how relationships are supposed to be, Arthur wonders. Or is this intimate part of Kiku, this vulnerable and sweet part of him, something exclusive to Arthur only? What did that mean?

“I understood the concept, but not the practice. I’ve heard more love stories then I can count. I just assumed it had nothing to do with me as a man or a nation.”

“Why?” Arthur speaks up, “Plenty of nations pursue love.”

“I realize that. I just…” Kiku trails off, and he furrows his brows. It’s a quick moment, as Kiku decides. Perhaps this is a big step for him. But he sighs and closes his eyes and finally talks.

He said it had been a cloudy day. He said he had been on a hunting expedition.

“I was young. I can’t even remember the group I had went with or why. This must’ve been a hundred years ago. I just remember getting lost. The mountains were new territory for me and I must’ve strayed from the group. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t too scared. I just tried to find my way back.”

Arthur finally realizes it. _He looks so tame now_ , he thinks.

“I found myself at the edge of a cliff, and it...it was such a view.” Kiku shakes his head, “It was a moment of understanding. Looking out across the land, I began to feel overcome. In that moment I realized this was _mine_.”

It’s a vague description but there was no need for him to go into detail. Arthur knows this feeling all too well, and honestly all their peers probably do too. It’s nothing humans would understand. It’s not even something nations can comprehend well either. It’s simply a fact, an emotion, an intuition built into them.

“The land. The people. In that moment, I felt some connection. And…” Kiku struggles. Arthur notes the sudden waver in his voice, “And it was _crushing._ ”

Kiku goes quiet. The songbird is still tweeting outside, cheerful and small. Arthur won’t pursue. He can’t even if he wanted to, because he’s so taken back by this side of Kiku.

“Please, don’t misunderstand me. It’s not that I hated it. It’s simply that I was realizing the responsibility I held. What I am tied to and what that all means. I’m not a God. But I’m certainly not a man either. I have a duty to uphold, a way I must act. Things I can’t _do_.”

Kiku looks pained, lying there, staring at the ceiling. He looks raw and weak and new. Arthur is picturing Kiku there on the cliff, a younger boy weighed down with a tremendous fate. There’s something so frightening about this to Arthur. There’s something so cruel about the universe then because it feels so familiar to Arthur.  It’s so much he’s being given and he has no idea where to start. He wants to say pretty things, but mostly he’s thankful this was even given to him. It dawns on him then just what felt so different about this situation, about this Kiku.

He was _trusting_ him.

Now, it’s not that Arthur hasn’t been trusted before, for better or for worse. No rather, this is coming from the person who had, in his own way, tamed him. Who had torn down Arthur’s walls and who had taken his heart and subsequently taken him to bed. This was his hunter showing his weakness. It felt off to Arthur. It felt different. All these one-sided games he was used to playing were being up-ended. Arthur was prepared to give parts of himself away, but here was Kiku making things _equal_. He’s not sure if Kiku knew this wasn’t how things were done. Maybe that didn’t have anything to do with it all. Either way, Arthur is in new territory and the person he was ready to submit to was showing his weaknesses. He wasn’t prepared for this, so he just blurts out the first thing he thinks of.

“I also-!” He gulps, “I also never saw myself being this person.”

Kiku looks surprised. He looks at Arthur, astounded and Arthur feels bare there. He’s shocked at his own actions too, but he wants to go forward. Isn’t this what he wanted? A chance to play at love and docility?

“Things are just easier when you’re young, I suppose.” Arthur whispers, looking downwards. “It’s easier to see what’s bad and what’s good.”

It’s too hard to look at Kiku right now. It is taking Arthur’s everything to confess like this, but he powers on. He wants to relate to him. Kiku is showing his weakness so he wants to give him that same privilege.

“I mean. I knew I couldn’t die back then. We all thought we’d never die. But I grew up, and I learnt there’s only one thing that could kill me. Could kill all of us.”

Arthur feels Kiku’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up at him. He’s scared he’ll get distracted. Now that everything had been confirmed and returned and consoled, Arthur just can’t look at Kiku the same way anymore. He’s more pretty. He’s more available. In the right sort of setting, that can be dangerous.

But Arthur doesn’t want touches right now. He just wants to give.

“It seemed easier back then.” He reiterates, focusing on the folds of the sheets between them “You’re all my enemy. Sometimes we team up to survive longer, but in the end I know I can only trust myself.”

Arthur pauses. Outside a tree branch shakes and the bird is gone. The sun beams are brightening the room, and Kiku shifts closer.

“But?” He asks. He’s daring him, Arthur knows this. And although instincts tell him to fight back, he gives in. It’s beginning to get easier to give in to him.

“But then I met you. And now I don’t know what to think.” He confesses.

This moment sits between them for what feels like a very long time.

Something has shifted. Souls and insecurities have been shared, and now they both lie there taking it in. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Arthur thinks. He had been pursued, he had given himself to Kiku. That’s where it’s supposed to end. Kiku offers a nervous smile, equally unsure of the situation.

“Do I scare you?” He asks softly. Arthur’s breath catches. He takes a moment to sort through the mess that is his affections.

“Yes.” he gulps, “But you also fascinate me.”

Kiku blushes. He folds his hands over his stomach and looks back at the ceiling.

“I feel the same.”

Arthur’s heart is beating like crazy. It was Kiku who began this pursuit, so how was he also scared of this situation? How was he also at the mercy of his emotions? Didn’t he control it? If Arthur is used to being pursued, if Arthur is used to being captured and eaten, then why was he feeling so lost now? Is it because Kiku stayed? Is it because Kiku cared?

It’s then Arthur realizes. It’s because he still has control.

This was still a matter of give and take. This is still a chase, of course; all relationships are in a way. But it’s dawning on Arthur that he had never given up his agency or his power. Despite being pursued, Kiku was in a way at his mercy. Hell, because he was being pursued he had power.

Just as Kiku said, he hadn’t seen himself doing these things. But it was Arthur who changed that. It was Arthur who caught his attention and made him act. For a moment, he could say maybe he had ruined him. Maybe Kiku was meant to be an outsider to all of this. Maybe, if it hadn’t been for him, Kiku would’ve remained pure and wholesome and blind to what could be called European hedonism. But frankly, Arthur calls bullshit on all of this. When a hunter spots their prey in the forest, you don’t blame that need on the prey. Kiku’s capable of lust just as any man. And just as he doesn’t see any reason to feel guilty for receiving, he doesn’t see any reason for Kiku to be ashamed for giving.

He wanted him. And it was Arthur who brought that all to the surface. If Kiku is taken by his desires, then it’s Arthur who controls them. Who _is_ them. Now that things were understood between them, the rules have changed. They have tamed each other, and so like this they both can dominate the situation as they wish. It’s not give and take anymore. It’s simply a game of chase between young lovers, a pursuit that never ends, the hunt that could go on forever.

Arthur likes that. Arthur likes that very, very much.

Kiku, unaware of this epiphany, sighs and turns his head.

“What are we doing, Arthur?” he asks out loud, a senseless wonder to his tone. Arthur sits up then, and Kiku watches him with half interest and half desire. He stretches, his muscles aching awake, and he knows he’s being watched. The room is much too bright for modesty to even be an idea.

“Does it matter?” Arthur asks, confident “If we’re having fun, then does any of it even matter?”

The tone he uses means there’s no contesting this. The tone he uses means it’s also an invitation. He’s half expecting it when Kiku grabs him and pulls him back down. What he doesn’t expect is the look in his eyes, the switch he had turned on. Kiku’s eyes are dark and his smile is off. His hand wanders.

“You’re a very dangerous person, you know.” He whispers. Arthur allows himself to be pulled closer. He gives a soft laugh into Kiku’s shoulder.

“But would you have me any other way?”

Kiku answers this with actions. Each one of them tells Arthur ‘ _No’_ and _‘This is exactly what I wanted’_. Soon enough, Arthur can’t think anymore and the sheets ruffle and the morning comes, and there’s nothing but ecstasy.

This will probably end horribly.

Arthur knows this. He’s been here before. The human side of things were perfect; they had wonderful chemistry, they had tremendous affection for each other, and more importantly, they accepted each other. But Kiku and Arthur were never only humans. And Arthur still has only one threat in this world. They can pretend, and press pretty ideas into the whole affair to cover it up. But someday, their immortality will have its consequences and they’ve no doubt assured that whatever breakup happens it will be all the more bloody and hateful and horrible. They’ve ruined it.

But for god’s sake, Arthur could give less of a fuck about any of that. What was the point in crying about it anymore? He’s found some sense of balance, a chance to dominate and be dominated by his own terms. He’s found _love._ After all this time, he’s found love and screw anybody who says he wasn’t allowed to enjoy that now while he still could. For now, he wraps his legs around his waist, and he whimpers into his shoulder, and for a moment, just for one moment…

...He thinks it’d be nice if they just kept coming back to this. Separating and clashing, chasing and running. Over and over and over again.

Until the end of time.


End file.
